Dear High School Girl,
You are very cute. Really. But I feel it is my duty as a high school teacher and mother of a 5-month-old unborn baby to tell you that the whole point of going to the gym is to work out – not, as you seem to believe, to text all your friends. Pausing for one minute between each sit-up to either read or answer a text is not exactly the best way to maintain that 24-inch waistline you’ve got going on right now (which, by the way, will vamoose when you hit about 20 years old). And even though you’re wearing your big sister’s sorority t-shirt, your carefully disheveled ponytail, flawless makeup, and Bella Swan-esque expression of tortured indifference give you away as a high schooler. The jig is up; no one believes you’re really in college.
Delta Zeta forever,
Dear Single Guy,
You can make eyes at me all you want, but I’m still married, pregnant, and not impressed by your arm muscles (which, by the way, I can only see because you cut the sleeves off your t-shirt). And speaking of your t-shirt, do you really think what’s written on the front of it is appropriate to wear out in public? Maybe if you were at Club La Vela, but the Hoover Rec Center? Not so much.
P.S. Please stop going to the tanning bed. It’s bad for you, and don’t you know about the new tanning tax?
Dear Super Runner Girl,
You’re not actually doing anything wrong here, which is why I can’t get mad at you. But your legs with their rippling muscles and the fact that you’re not even breathing hard after mile five – well, I’m a little intimidated. See, I’m kinda weighed down by this baby, and there are elderly people who lap me around the track. You’re sort of highlighting the waddle I’ve developed and making me look even more ridiculous when I trip over my own feet. And, since my own belly is sticking out like I’ve got a watermelon under my shirt, do you think you could wear something other than just a sportsbra and Spandex biking shorts so that I don’t have to watch your six pack get harder every time you pass me?